


What Was I Thinking?

by thecryoftheseagulls



Series: Zeryn Brosca [11]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Tumblr Prompt, Zeryn is not a lady and is not particularly fond of dresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 06:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3110360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryoftheseagulls/pseuds/thecryoftheseagulls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the prompt: "I can’t believe I wore this! Maker, what was I thinking?" for Zeryn/Alistair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Was I Thinking?

Zeryn Brosca hikes the long, bell-shaped skirt up off the ground so it doesn’t drag along the stairs leading from their chambers to the grand ballroom of Denerim Palace, and mutters a string of curses under her breath. She drops the purple material back to the ground when they reach the bottom.

"I can’t believe I wore this! Maker, what was I thinking?" she growls, surveying the tight bodice with its sweetheart neckline, the fluttering butterfly sleeves, the flare of the full skirt at her waist. She’s not really sure how, but the damned dress makes her look like she has curves. Curves! Her! She is the least curvy woman she’s ever met. Damned good reason none of the nobles ever looked twice at her back in Orzammar. She’s always been the duster with the carrot hair and the golden brown skin and thighs that could crush a man’s skull. She’s got stout dwarven muscle, not fucking curves. 

It’s only when Alistair’s big hand settles on her bare elbow that Zeryn realizes she’s said all this out loud. 

"I thought it was very considerate of Anora to send the dress," he offers. Zeryn gives him a glare.

"Do you know when the last time I wore a dress was, Alistair? Fucking never, okay! Too damn easy for sleazy assholes to get in your skirts when you’re not wearing any metal and something sharp to stab them with. And it’s impractical! I can barely breathe in this thing, let alone walk or fight if the need arises." Zeryn fumes, smoothing irritated fingers over the rich silky fabric.

Alistair touches the fancy scabbard belted around her waist for this event, the five year anniversary of Anora’s coronation. “May I remind you my dear, Starfang counts as something sharp with which to stab the assholes. And you have my sword as well, as ever.” He pats the hilt of his own blade.

Zeryn grunts. “And I’m sure if Anora and her nobles had their way, I wouldn’t even be wearing that. Take my sword away, they may as well have me naked. Bastards.”

Tucking one of red curls left artfully loose of the fancy updo behind her ear, Alistar cups Zeryn’s chin. “You look ravishing, Zeryn. I’ve half a mind to take you upstairs right now just so I can get you back out of it. But…” he leans close, tugging her flush against him with a hand on her hip. “If it helps, I do prefer you armored up. That intense glow you get in battle turned on me? Covered in the blood of our enemies?” He shivers. “Gives me chills,” he whispers, brushing his lips teasingly against hers before pulling back.

"Ancestors," Zeryn mutters, eyes half-closing. "You do know how to sweet-talk a girl, love."

Alistair smirks. “I try.” He steps back and offers her his arm. “Come along, my dear. The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can come back out again, hm? You know I abhor these things as much as you.”

"I believe that’s the most comforting thing you’ve said all night," she grumbles, slipping her hand in the crook of his arm.


End file.
